Raven’s POV
Fifty bikes is a sound you feel in your teeth before you hear it in your ears.
I pressed my back against the splintered doorframe, knife slick in my fist, watching that wall of light come apart into individual riders as they crested the ridge. Wolves on bikes. Bikes that would become wolves the second the riders wanted them to. Ronan had learned that trick from his father, who’d learned it from mine, and there was something sick about that, about how much of what hunted me now had grown out of my own blood.
“Inside,” Jax barked, dragging the unconscious rifle-thief by the collar through the door. “Now, Raven.”
“If we hide in there we’re cornered.”
“If we stand out here we’re target practice.” He shoved me through ahead of him, and I let him, because for once his stubbornne
